Burning Kiss Read online

So now I was agitated and pissy. I adjusted my halter-top, squeezing my boobs up until my nipples were almost popping out. Thanks to Eddie’s attention, I needed a fix in the worst way. He’d gotten me riled up for release. I checked my lipstick, adjusted my wig, turned around to make sure my skirt wasn’t tucked into my panties. Then I gave it a second thought and stripped my panties off completely. One less barrier.

  I grabbed my small purse and checked my cute little .38 Special, fully loaded ready to go. I slipped it into the waist holster that I’d made in my skirt. One of many pieces of attire that I’d created for my hunts. With my wig as long as it was and my halter-top dipping low on my hips, no one noticed that I was armed. No one expected it either.

  I slipped my keys and phone into my purse and left, feeling the rush of excitement.

  One thing I loved about being a woman? People always underestimated me.

  I got attention as soon as I walked into the bar. It was to be expected, really. I’d picked a place in the dirty part of town, a dive that I’d never been to before. That was my MO. Never go to the same hole twice. Luckily there were plenty of shifty drinking joints all over the place.

  Conversations literally stopped when I entered the dimly lit space. I scanned the room from bar to pool table and back again. Run down was an understatement. The dive was falling apart and it reeked of grease and smoke and filthy men. There were at least a dozen of the bastards milling around, not a woman to be seen. That bode well for me—not that other women usually crimped my action, but they did sometimes try to rescue me.

  My heels clicked over the laminate floor, a lull in the music making my entrance all the more dramatic. I slid onto a stool and nodded at the bartender, a fat, balding guy who couldn’t stop staring at my tits. Also a good sign. I was pretty sure he’d look the other way when I needed him to.

  “You in the right place, lady?” he asked as he approached, licking his lips and rubbing his belly before snapping his gaze to finally meet mine.

  “Yep.” I smiled. “Bourbon straight, please.”

  He arched an eyebrow, smirked and nodded. “You got it.”

  I downed the shot and asked for another. “With a ginger ale in a short glass.”

  The bartender screwed up his face. “One bourbon and one ginger. Whatever.”

  When he came back with my order I slipped him some cash, grabbed my drinks and made my way toward the darker section of the bar, clicking across the parquet that was supposed to be the distinguishing transition to the dance floor. I wondered if the place ever had been cool. I glanced at the wall decor of faded and curling band posters and Christmas decorations a couple of decades past their prime, and decided no, not a chance. This place was as third rate as they came.

  I downed my bourbon, feeling the burn as it slid along my throat and then warmed my gut. I needed the buzz to take the edge off, but also to give me the numb that I so craved. Two bourbons, that was enough, and no one needed to know what was in my second glass.

  I slipped to the jukebox and found a few raunchy songs to get the party started, then picked up my glass and sauntered over to the pool table, bypassing the four guys who were milling around, pool cues in hand.

  Their eyes on me burned like the bourbon, making me tingle. I pulled my purse forward to dig out some change and made sure my skirt hiked up to show a bit of ass. I giggled as I patted the fabric back down, glancing around, like I actually cared if someone saw. Then giggled again when I confirmed that they all had.

  I slipped my coins on the table edge.

  “I’ve got the next game, boys,” I said, letting my body sway a little against the wood of the table.

  I moved to the music, sauntering back so that I could lean against the wall, drink sloshing as I danced.

  With my hair a bit of a mess across my face, I dared to assess my targets. Which one, which one? The four at the table hadn’t moved since I’d gotten there, beer bottles in hand, eyes roving. They were assessing too. It gave me a chill and I stifled the urge to roar my excitement. This was dangerous. This little game I was playing was probably going to get me killed one day. Another chill raced through me, amping my adrenaline. I took sip of my virgin ale and smirked. I didn’t really believe that though. No man was ever going to get the best of me. Not ever again.

  “Is no one playing now?” I asked, moving one hand to my hip in mock frustration while tugging my halter down enough to show a bit of nipple before giggling and popping it back in. “Oops!”

  “Hey, sweetheart.” He was big, burly, wearing a wife beater that barely covered his paunch. He moved toward me swiftly, making the move that the others wouldn’t. He came in close enough to knock me off balance so I fell into him. Classy. “Whoa there, girl, you maybe’ve had too much to drink.”

  I looked up at him, giving him doe eyes and a giggle. Men like this loved the giggle. “Nuh uh. I’m ready to play. Who’s going to play with me?” I peeked around his bulky frame, trying to catch the eyes of the others.

  He yanked me closer and nudged up my chin. “You wanna play, sweetheart?” His eyes were blue, pretty but calculating. He hooked his hand under my elbow, gaze snapping to my chest. My nipples hardened under that scorching look. “I’m ready for a game.” His eyes were stroking me, ramping me up, making my pussy wet.

  The rush. Ahh, the rush, it burned away the alcohol. It was almost, almost what I needed… But not quite… Just a little more.

  “Why don’t you come sit down with me?” He manoeuvred me away from the other men. A look passing between the guys that spoke of dirty things. A look that growled a warning. He’d claimed me. I was his. Lucky man.

  He steadied me again, his hand moving from my elbow to my ass. “We don’t get pretty ladies in here often. Let me buy you a drink, sweetheart.”

  I giggled again, nodded. “Rye and ginger.” I downed the one in my hand and gave him the glass.

  “You like the hard stuff, huh?” He moved my chair in close to his, positioning me so that he could push his knee between my legs, spreading me open. Cool air hit my pussy and I smiled. Mmmm, yes. I liked that. I wondered if he could smell my arousal.

  “You got a man, sweetheart?” He leaned in to talk, his breath reeking of garlic and beer, his hand, the one holding a beer bottle, nudging my breast as he did.

  I leaned in too, my hand on his thigh as I looked up through my lashes at him. “Does that really matter?”

  “Nope.” He adjusted himself so my fingers hit the edge of his cock.

  I drank. He watched. There was no conversation, just my fingers tracing the line of his dick through his jeans. He was impressive, not porn star impressive, but he was definitely sporting a cock that would rival any of my dildos.

  He ordered me a shot of bourbon, tried to slip his hand under my skirt. I got up to use the washroom. He followed, no doubt signalling to his buddies to keep away.

  He was waiting for me when I came out. His bulky heft framing the doorway.

  “Oh, hi!” I giggled as I swayed into the wall.

  He caught me by the waist, dropped his lips to mine for a wet, suctioning kind of kiss. I tried not to gag.

  He slipped his fingers under my skirt, didn’t hesitate to stroke my pussy. “You’re not wearing panties,” he rasped against my ear. “What kind of girl doesn’t wear panties?”

  “A dirty one.” I smiled.

  He smiled too but there was nothing friendly about it. “You gonna suck my cock or what?”

  His foul breath was all over me, inside of me. Repulsive.

  “Here?” I didn’t need to pretend disgust.

  He looked up as if surprised to see us standing in the cramped hallway of the bar. With a jerking nod, he dragged me to the right, down another short hall and then outside. We were in an alley.

  The cool night air sobered me up more than I wanted it to. This was real. As real as it got. A spike of fear ramped up my heart and then a rush of adrenaline washed it away.

  I could hear cars driving past. Not far fro
m the road but otherwise hidden in the dimly lit alcove. Alone. With a huge man. Perfect. Familiar territory.

  He pushed me to the wall, scratching my arms against the brick with little care. He took my chin in his hand and wrenched my face up. Rough, callused fingers abraded my skin.

  “You gonna suck my dick, sweetheart?”

  I stared into those pretty blue eyes, clouded now by desire and aggression. “No.”

  He blinked. “Huh?”

  I ran my hand over his crotch, feeling the length of him grow harder under my touch. It coulda been fun, under different circumstances.

  “I’m not going to stick my mouth on your filthy dick.” Every word I uttered, every no I said, was one someone else couldn’t.

  He pushed my head back, banging it against the wall as his eyes flashed with rage. Here was the danger, knowing just when…the tipping point that would push me too far in one direction.

  “What? A little cock tease, huh?” He grabbed my breast hard, pinching my nipple as it slipped out of my halter.

  I winced and he smiled, a cruel calculating smile that I’d seen many times before. Another pulse of fear rolled through me and I revelled in it, sucking it down like I would his cum if it came to that.

  “Oh yeah, sweetheart, you’re going to suck my dick right here, right now.” He moved his hand from my jaw to my shoulder, the other hand on his fly, unzipping. He lowered his mouth as if to suck my nipple.

  “I said no,” I growled.

  “You said no?” He glanced at me, his face screwed up like he’d swallowed a mouthful of piss. “You walk in here looking like that, shoving your tits in my face, no panties, acting like a little fucking slut and you say no? Sweetheart, you don’t get to say no.” His hand on my shoulder tightened, his fingers back under my skirt, sliding into my pussy. “You’re going to suck my dick and then I’m going to shove it up your sweet, wet, little cunt until you scream. Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two about respect, you fucking whore.”

  He wanted me to be scared. I thought about acting it out for him until he raised his hand to slap me. That didn’t scare me. That incited my rage.

  I slipped my hand behind me and pulled my gun from its holster before lifting it in one smooth motion so it rested just under his chin. He froze, hand in mid-air. “Let’s get one thing straight, you filthy motherfucker. When a woman says no, she means no.”

  His eyes flashed with fear, then rage and then back to calculating. He was assessing me, my intent, my size, my position. He lowered his hand. “You think you’re gonna scare me with that little gun, sweetheart? I bet you don’t have the balls to pull the trigger.” He reached down and flicked my nipple, his lips pulled into a smirk. “I’m gonna get my rocks off, and I’m not going to be gentle about it.”

  He snapped his hand up to knock the gun away, his fist coming at my head as if he had a chance. I ducked, moving around him as he slammed against the wall.

  I knocked his legs out from under him with a sweeping roundhouse. I swear the ground rumbled when he hit. I took two steps back and trained my gun on him again.

  He moaned as he tried to lift his head. “Fuck!” He started to get up. I took my shot.

  My bullet hit the pavement between his legs, the ricochet for sure slapping him in the balls. He screamed as he pulled up into himself like a baby. Protecting his dick when he should have been covering his head.

  “You repeat after me, motherfucker.” I pointed my gun at his face. “When a woman says no, she fucking means no.”

  He nodded, eyes wide, all aggression gone. “When a woman says no…s-h-h-e f-f-fuc…means no,” he stammered the last bit, the smell of his piss hitting me as I nodded along with his words.

  “That’s right, big guy. You keep that in mind the next time you wanna rape a woman.”

  I heard some shouts from behind the door—his buddies maybe coming to investigate the gunshot. Time to go.

  I slipped my gun back into my holster, straightened my clothes and smiled at him. “Thanks, sweetheart. You really know how to get a girl off.”

  It was dangerous. It was stupid. But the rush. The rush was worth dying for.

  4

  Not all men were like that. Sometimes they surprised me. I knew going the night before to that particular bar was going to yield results quickly. That had been my goal. I wanted a fix. But sometimes I went on a hunt looking for a challenge. Sometimes I tried super hard to bait a guy and he just wouldn’t go for it. And it didn’t matter how they were dressed, how many tattoos they had or what was in their wallet. As a therapist, I’d learned to profile the kind of guy who would rape a woman. It was something in their eyes—something in their stance. They reeked of it, almost. But yeah, occasionally, the angel was speaking on their shoulders and when I said no, they backed off. Sometimes. Those were the nights that made me cry. Partly out of frustration, partly out of relief.

  What I was doing was reckless. Any shrink would tell you it was transference for sure. Redirecting my damage and all the emotions connected to it. It was fucked up. But it felt damn good. Powerful. Right.

  I had a bruise on the back of my arm, along with a few scratches from the brick wall I’d been shoved against. Nothing major and certainly not the worst I’d received. I made a mental note to get some longer sleeved outfits to build into my hunt apparel rotation.

  I zipped up my duffel bag and headed to the gym. I tried to work out every day, but in particular I always worked out the day after a hunt. Like a cleansing, I needed to batter my muscles and make sure I didn’t lose any of those skills I sometimes needed while dealing with a rapist.

  Treadmill, some weights and then straight to the bags. That was what I loved. After taping my fists, I started working the heavy bag in. Hands up, light on my feet. I moved swiftly. Punch, punch, kick, snap, punch, knee. It hurt. My muscles screamed. Sweat coated my flesh and yet I couldn’t stop grinning. The bag shifted minimally but that didn’t matter. I knew I had good technique—it was tried and tested.

  I’d dabbled in all sorts of martial arts, had even done some boxing for a while. I knew how to spar and I knew how to take a hit. I wasn’t a black belt in anything but I’d had training. It was more than my targets expected and I was fairly confident I could get out of most violent situations, if only because men underestimated me. The way I looked, blond and cute, curvy—I even had the spray of freckles across my nose—didn’t exactly scream dangerous. Fuck them though. Fuck them all.

  I wanted to learn how to wield knives. That would be awesome. Imagine pulling a blade at that exact moment, pressing it to flesh, silently getting my message across? Yeah, blades would be hot. Totally needed to look into that.

  “Any other secret talents you’re hiding from me?”

  I tried to play it cool but Eddie startled the fuck out of me. I stifled a yelp and barely avoided clocking him in the jaw.

  “What are you, some kind of stalker?” I huffed my words, sweat dripping into my eyes.

  He smirked and handed me a towel. “The badge works wonders. Can get you into practically anywhere.”

  After snatching the towel from him, I quickly wiped my face. “What do you want, Eddie? Seriously, this is a little more than weird.”

  “I need your help.” He raised a file folder into my line of view, presumably the same one he’d shown me the day before.

  “I told you I wasn’t interested.” I tossed the towel to the side and prepared myself for another round of hits. Thinking that maybe if I ignored him he’d go away.

  “I realized that I didn’t give you all of the information yesterday.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. Pathetic. Clingers. Ugh.

  “These murders, they happened at your alma mater.”

  I frowned, not following. “So?”

  “So? Doesn’t that intrigue you? Two young girls have been violently murdered, their bodies violated, positioned in public to be found by a citizen. You have no interest in that?”

  I shrugged. “No more than the average
media consumer. Speaking of which, why hasn’t this been all over the news if it’s such a big deal?”

  “Because I’ve been working my ass off to keep this one out of the news. And the university isn’t interested in a media nightmare. They’ve been cooperating.” He laid his hand on the bag, right where I was about to punch. “Come and have a coffee with me and I’ll explain the case. Give you insider details. You’re a psychologist; I know you’re interested in hearing about what’s in this file.” He waved the damn thing at me.

  Pathetic. Any excuse to get me alone with him.

  “I told you, Eddie. Nothing is ever going to happen between us again. If this is some attempt to rekindle—”

  “Get over yourself, Jade. You’re hot but you’re not unforgettable.” He snickered.

  The look on his face made me blush a little. Nice ego check, bud. Okay, maybe I was wrong, maybe he wasn’t all about getting me back. Now I was intrigued.

  “Seriously, I need your help, no strings attached, but if that’s not transparent enough for you, how about you answer a few questions for me about your old professor, Arthur Stone?”

  I flinched, then frowned. “What does he have to do with all of this?” My heart kicked up. “Is he a suspect?”

  “No, just a person of interest. But I’d like to ask you a few questions about him.”

  A flare of anger flashed through me. A protective need to shield Arthur from any wrongly directed accusations. The man had saved my life. He was like a father to me. A father I hadn’t spoken to in over six months. I sighed. “Give me fifteen and I’ll meet you out front.”

  Eddie gave me an appraising once over when I stepped outside of the building so I knew he hadn’t totally written me off. I slipped my sunglasses on and nodded toward the coffee house on the corner. “Ready?”

  “Yeah.” He tapped his file folder. “Let’s go.”

  We walked in silence for about thirty seconds, if that, before Eddie started shifting a few glances my way.

  “You look good, Jade. I like your hair that way.”